You're The Only One Who
by dreamgurl
Summary: A series of times that Blair drunk-dialed Chuck, and vice versa, starting with the Pilot. Inspired, of course, by his infamous question in 'Woman on the Verge.' Obviously CB.
1. holds my hair back

**You're The Only One Who…**

Summary: Just a collection of times that Blair drunk dialed Chuck. I don't know how many there will be—but a minimum of three. Inspired by his infamous line in 'Woman on the Verge.' The first one takes place after the Pilot.  
Author's Note: I don't own Gossip Girl, I'm just trying to get it out of my system before school starts and all I will really have time to do is watch the episodes. The title is from Maria Mena's "You're The Only One," and each chapter will be a lyric from there as well.

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**holds my hair back when i'm drunk and get sick**

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Blair stared after Nate's retreating back and felt all the hopes she had been carefully building up since their sushi lunch come crashing down around her. He had not spoken a single word to her since his supposed "walk"—he had just spent the rest of the Kiss on the Lips party drinking in a corner, probably crying on the inside about the loss of his beautiful blonde goddess. And now he was just going to _leave_, without even saying goodbye. Why? Because he was a coward.

She rolled her eyes and held back the overwhelming desire to purge. She was not going to let him and his pathetic obsession get the best of her—not this time. It's not like it was his fault, really. Who **wasn't** completely and totally enamored of Serena fucking van der Woodsen? Besides, if she did end up vomiting tonight, she was damn well going to make sure it was due to the fact that she had drunk her weight in alcohol, not because her boyfriend was a cheating stoner and her ex-best friend was a lying whore.

It was definitely time to get the party started.

* * *

Chuck was startled from his heavy make-out session with Amber Brown (even if Jenny Humphrey wasn't interested, there was always _some_ girl who couldn't resist the attentions of Chuck Bass) by the sound of his phone ringing.

Normally, he wouldn't pick up—because no phone conversation could be more pleasurable than what was already available in the flesh—but Meredith Brooks singing the chorus to "Bitch" clearly indicated that the caller was Blair Waldorf. She had chosen the ring tone herself, on one of those rare occasions that she felt in the mood for some amusing self-deprecation.

He extracted himself from Amber's arms, leaving her whimpering like a wounded puppy, and lazily picked up the phone. Even if Blair couldn't see him, he wanted to make sure he seemed as uninterested as possible. It wouldn't do for Blair to ever know he _wanted_ to talk to her. After all, she only ever called if she needed help planning something devious, and how could he help it if her evil schemes made the bitchy little girl inside of him squeal with joy?

"Waldorf. I was hoping you'd call," he drawled into the phone, making sure he sounded as lecherous as possible. He loved making her angry, because he knew she was squirming on the inside even if she was scoffing on the outside.

Amber made a noise of protest, but Chuck put a hand up to silence her. She sulked on the corner of the bed, and started putting her shirt back on to indicate her annoyance, but he couldn't have cared less.

Blair sighed into the phone as she tried to pick herself up off the floor. Why did Chuck always have to pick up when she called? This was _so_ the wrong number to dial for anything other than social destruction, but she couldn't stop herself from asking him the same question she had been repeating to herself all night long.

"Why doesn't Nate love me?" She whispered into the phone, hating the way her voice sounded so small and broken. It was a good thing she had plenty of blackmail against Chuck, because otherwise he would totally use moments like these to humiliate her in front of everyone.

Chuck felt his face pale upon hearing her. Her words were slightly slurred, and she was speaking with more of a lilt than normal. Was she…_drunk_? He would have laughed at her if it weren't for the amount of pain in her voice.

He hated having to see Blair like this—it ruined his image of her as his perfect, unfeeling counterpart. She was supposed to be his partner in all things cruel and manipulative, and nothing else. But when he heard her sound so vulnerable and alone, it caused his cold heart to warm up just a little, which was not a sensation he appreciated in the least. It also made him want to do things for Blair that he didn't think _Nate_ would appreciate in the least. _Not that Nate should be allowed to have any rights over Blair at this point_, the traitorous voice in his head spoke up.

Quickly remembering that her question was definitely **not** one you could just leave unanswered, he grabbed Amber roughly by the arm and ushered her out of the room. Recollecting his manners, he pleasantly mouthed 'I'll call you' before shutting the door and seating himself on the couch to conjure up an appropriate response for Blair. He would have liked to yell, '_Because he can't stop thinking about fucking Serena!_' But he was pretty sure that, in this particular case, blunt honesty was not the best policy.

"Nate **does** love you," he insisted in a tired voice. He hated lying. "He's just going through some daddy issues right now. Teenage angst, rebellion, you know the drill. And I guess you get to experience some of the side effects."

Blair felt sick. Her head was spinning, and she couldn't even feel her hands. She probably should have stopped after the fifth Bellini, but then she might not have agreed to that table dance with Kati. And that had been pretty fun. She didn't have nearly enough fun, which was probably why Nate was so bored by her in the first place.

She was having a difficult time concentrating on Chuck's words. Nothing really made sense other than his assurance of Nate's love. Maybe she lived too much in her old romantic comedies, but the one thing she knew was this: no matter what, if you loved someone, you wouldn't treat them the way she was being treated.

"I try so hard," she began, doing her best to keep from dissolving into tears. Chuck had yet to ever see her cry, and she wanted to keep it that way. "And he doesn't even want me. What's wrong with me? What do I need to do?"

This was ridiculous. Chuck could already feel his blood boiling. He already knew Nate apparently needed Viagra to even contemplate sex with Blair, but the fact that _she_ knew it, too, made him hate his best friend a little more than he'd like to admit. No matter how soulless people liked to say Chuck Bass was, one thing he would never do was make a woman feel unwanted. Especially not one like Blair Waldorf.

Honestly, he couldn't really see the appeal of Serena for anyone, let alone anyone who already had Blair. Sure, he wanted to sleep with her, simply because the fact that she had rejected him was alluring in and of itself. But aside from that, there was absolutely nothing special about her. She was used and worn-out, and he could see nothing in her that would make someone want to come back for seconds.

Nate was obviously a moron. Why in the world would he want to buy an outdated version of a high school princess at market price, when he could have a new one in perfect condition for free? Of course, no woman was ever going to hold Chuck down, but he had to admit there was something strangely pleasing about the thought of a girl who was completely pure, made just for him, that no one else had or could touch. How could Nate not be turned on by the mere idea of Blair waiting for him in her bedroom, probably dressed in the most classic lingerie she could find? It was mind-blowing.

"There's nothing you need to do, Waldorf. Stop being stupid," he replied firmly, almost harshly, into the phone. "You are most beautiful girl I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, and if Nate doesn't realize that, it's because he's either blind or gay." He thought it best to make light of the situation, so he added, "Come to think of it, I _have_ noticed him checking me out in the mornings…."

Blair didn't feel coherent enough to even chuckle at the joke, but she somehow found herself laughing like a hyena. This was not at all attractive. Not that she cared about being attractive around Chuck, obviously. She heard Chuck's low, soothing laughter accompany her own and this made her break out into even more giggles. He made everything sound so sexual, it was kind of insane.

"But Chuck… You saying I'm beautiful means absolutely nothing, now, does it?"

Chuck was taken aback by this accusation. "Exactly what are you implying?"

She hiccupped. "You would bang anything with legs…so you're basically just saying, 'Hey, Blair. You're a female.'"

"Blair," he chided, shaking his head at her naïveté. "I said you were **beautiful**, not bang-able. There is a distinction. Of course, you are both," he added, in case she took his previous statement as an insult. "But do you honestly think I go around calling every girl I happen to pleasure 'beautiful?'"

Blair smiled, satisfied, and leaned back against the wall of the bathroom. "I hope not. Some of them are downright hideous." He chuckled his agreement, and she started to feel the full weight of his compliment. Chuck Bass had certainly seen more than his fair share of women, and if he counted her among the most attractive… Well, that had to mean something, didn't it?

The fact that she was talking on the phone with Chuck while trying to stop herself from puking on the bathroom floor made her feel suddenly very dirty. And unpopular. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Chuck…" she whined, more to herself than to him. "Why are you the only person who cares about me?"

He furrowed his brows. He did not like this word 'care.' He only _cared_ about three things, and Blair Waldorf was certainly not counted among them. "Sometimes I like to pretend I'm your friend," he replied nonchalantly.

She snorted, knowing he was actually admitting he **was** her friend. "Not to mention, you're also the biggest pig in all of New York City." She sighed again, too entranced in her own self-pity to worry about wounding his pride with either insults or mushy, heartfelt statements. "What does it say about _me_ that you're, like, my only real friend?"

"It says that you have very good taste," Chuck answered with a smirk, trying his best not to be fazed by the notion that he was any girl's 'real friend.'

Without even realizing it, her thoughts drifted back to Serena and she bit her lip hard to keep a sob in. She could not, however, keep the word vomit from spewing forth. "I feel so lonely…" she complained, wincing as soon as her statement reverberated in her eardrums. What was she saying?

Chuck smiled deviously, thinking how much she was probably regretting those words right about now. But he wouldn't be Chuck Bass if he didn't run with it, now would he? "Do you want me to come over, Waldorf? Keep you company in your loneliness, maybe make you feel a little more beautiful…" You could practically see him raising his eyebrows seductively through the phone.

Blair gritted her teeth and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Well, she had that coming, she guessed. The worst part was that she really _did_ want him to come. She must have a fever. "You probably have some whore in your bed that you should be attending to," she said, waving him off with the impatience in her voice. "I don't want you to keep her waiting on my account."

"No, actually. I'm all yours tonight."

Blair let out a little scoff of disbelief. "You've got to be kidding be. I saw you leave…" It took her a little moment to remember her train of thought, but she soon recalled a flash of bright red hair and a simpering smile. "…with that bitch from the sophomore class, Candice what's-her-face. And I thought Chuck Bass **always** followed through."

Chuck felt himself redden a little. He hated getting caught. "If you knew I was with a girl, why the hell did you call in the first place?" He felt slightly bad for sounding so bitter, but seriously, what a cock-blocking bitch.

"I didn't expect you to **answer**," she snapped defensively, pissed that she had even for a moment considered him her friend. "You think I _wanted_ to have this embarrassing conversation with you? That I actually **like** it when you humiliate me? God!"

Chuck was stumped for about half a second. This was the closest he had ever come to getting into an actual fight with Blair. Usually they were of one mind, trading playful barbs while all their _real _cattiness was directed at an unworthy third party. He felt the need to say something placating, so he put on his best seductive voice (which sounded a lot like his normal voice), and replied, "Well, I answered because I was secretly hoping you were finally going to let me break you in for dear Nathaniel."

"Ugh." Blair pretended to gag, which ironically made her stop feeling like she _actually_ wanted to gag.

"There are quite a few things I could teach you, which I'm sure he'd _love_—"

"Chuck!" Blair gasped and hiccupped once more, less surprised by his perversion than by how _appealing_ she found it at the moment. Oh, God, she was way too drunk. Instead of wanting to scream, '_You're disgusting_,' she was forcing herself **not** to scream, "_Don't tempt me._"

Chuck grinned. He loved hearing her say his name in that offended, surprised tone of voice—so much so that it was making him a little uncomfortable. He wanted to keep teasing her, see how far he could push the envelope with her in this condition, but something told him that the time for games had come to an end. Blair was clearly in an unstable frame of mind right now if she was calling _him_ for relationship advice, and it was his sort-of-friendly duty to make sure she got home safe.

"In all seriousness, Waldorf. Are you still at the party? Don't move, I'll pick you up in ten."


	2. drags me kicking and screaming

**You're The Only One Who…**  
Summary: Just a collection of times that Blair drunk dialed Chuck. Inspired by his infamous line in 'Woman on the Verge.' This one takes place after the events of 'Handmaiden's Tale.'  
Author's Note: Gossip Girl is not mine. I am not Maria Mena. I have never drunk-dialed anyone.

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**drags me kicking and screaming through fast dreams**

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Nate threw the cards down on the table, sick of playing after only an hour. Chuck sighed and set his own cards down as well, prepared to listen to whatever rant Nate was about to begin. Not that Nate ever really ranted. It was more like he strung together two tired-sounding sentences and then shot emo faces all around the room like a very depressed underwear model.

"I didn't even do anything, man," Nate sighed heavily. Of course, that was a lie. The truth was that Blair didn't _know_ he had done anything. Which made it so much worse, because he knew that she didn't have a reason to be angry, and yet she **should**. He was robbing her of righteous anger. He was an asshole. "She was so _mad_ at me."

Chuck suppressed his wide grin and tried to form a sympathetic grimace instead, but he was having a pretty hard time of it. Truthfully, his night couldn't have gone worse. He had been totally played by Jenny effing Humphrey of all people, left out on the cold roof in his wife beater and boxers. He had actually had to _give some guy his number_ to obtain an extra tux (clearly, he would not be picking up any calls from unknown numbers for the next few weeks). And yet, somehow, he couldn't feel more satisfied.

Obviously there was something to that whole 'schadenfreude' theory. How else could he explain that he was so _giddy_ over the fact that his poor best friend wasn't getting laid tonight?

"That's just the problem, Nathaniel," Chuck shrugged and replied in his best imitation of a consoling tone. "You **didn't **do anything. Hence, chances were missed. Heat was lost."

Nate let out one of his famously breathy laughs and flicked a card into Chuck's face. "You really know how to cheer a guy up. Thanks a lot."

Chuck was on the verge of feeling bad for being less understanding than usual when his phone began playing a familiar ring tone. As he picked up the call and moved towards the door before Nate could recognize whom it was, he decided he better save his sympathy for someone who might need it more.

"Why didn't you just get Nate to come find me, you jerk?" Were the first words elegantly slurred from Blair Waldorf's mouth.

Chuck let himself break out into a full-on smile this time around. "Ah, yes," he breathed into the phone. "I love it when you talk drunk to me."

Nate perked up at this and started trying to figure out which one of Chuck's many women could be calling. It was a little game he played to pass the time—on a good day, he'd figure it out by the third sentence Chuck uttered.

"You couldn't just…" Blair sucked in a breath in the middle of her sentence. She was too angry to even string her words together properly. What right did Chuck Bass have to delay her perfect evening? "…Take, like, two seconds out of your precious pervert time to…help me out?"

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair almost nervously. He actually had no response to her accusatory question. Why **hadn't** he just grabbed Nate and let them have their happily ever after? At the time, it had just seemed more entertaining to watch Blair squirm while Nate mooned after Serena with that perpetually stoned expression on his face. But in retrospect, the only thing he could think to say was, _when you finally have sex, it shouldn't be like this._

But Hell would freeze over before words like that actually came out of his mouth. So instead he smirked and replied, "Sorry, sweetheart, but duty called."

"You selfish bastard!" Blair shrieked so loudly that Chuck had to cover the ear piece so that Nate wouldn't hear his girlfriend on the other line.

Exhausted by her exertion, she waited a full thirty seconds before continuing, in a much more pathetic tone, "You could get laid any minute of the day, why choose then?"

Ignoring the guilt that threatened to twist up his insides, Chuck decided rather to focus on the more lascivious portion of that comment. "I resent that," he smarmed. "I last quite a bit longer than a minute. In fact, I'm known for my stamina."

Nate covered his mouth with one hand and started laughing silently. He was dying to know who was on the other line. The conversations Chuck got to have with women from all over the place were just flat-out ridiculous. The most exciting phone conversations **Nate** ever engaged in revolved around color-coordinating his tie to match Blair's shoes.

Blair accidentally banged her head against the wall trying to get images of Chuck's stamina out of her head. "Oww, shiiiiit…" she whimpered, cursing him for causing her physical pain aside from the already clearly irreparable emotional damage she was suffering.

"Can't you ever forget about yourself and help the rest of us out?" She asked in that pleading tone of hers that made Chuck almost relieved that he would never, _ever_ have a girlfriend. Mostly, though, it just made him want to do whatever she said. Which made him hate her and thus force him to **not** do what she said. Which, in turn, made her use that tone even more. It was a vicious cycle, really.

He suddenly caught Nate staring at him expectantly, waiting to be informed of the identity of the mysterious caller—perhaps expecting Chuck to crack a few silent jokes about the needy one-night stand. He motioned to his best friend that this call might actually be important and mouthed 'I've gotta take this' as he walked out of the suite and closed the door. He was going to have to come up with a great story for Nate when he was through here.

* * *

"Listen, Blair," he finally said when he was out of hearing distance. "I just thought…" _Ugh_, there was nothing he hated more than having to explain himself. Chuck Bass never made excuses. He just did what he wanted, and other people had to deal with the consequences. "You know, I thought you'd want Nate to find you on his own." Satisfactory. A weasel response, which was definitely something he could deal with.

Blair groaned unhappily, and Chuck couldn't tell if she was getting sick or if she was just finding his excuses to be very, very lame.

"Do you really want me to be the reason Nate finally sleeps with you?" He tried again, and the shocked silence on the other end of the line told him he could have probably come up with a more tactful way of phrasing that particular sentence.

When Blair finally responded, her voice was very small. "I mean, that's the only way it would ever happen, right?"

Now it was Chuck's turn to groan as he worked out a way to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. "We are not having this conversation again. You're fucking gorgeous, Nate's a retard, I often fantasize about doing you the favor myself if he can't get his act together, et cetera, et cetera."

Blair sucked in her breath once more and resisted the urge to continue banging her head against the wall. After awhile, it might start feeling pretty good. "I fucking hate you, Chuck Bass," she growled, but it came out as more of a singsong because she was getting kind of sleepy.

"And here I thought I was being supportive," Chuck shot back with faux remorse.

Her voice took on a more determined tone. "I don't even want to talk to you right now," she informed him, but did not hang up. She waited for him to do it for her, but the continuous sound of his breathing told her he was not going to give in that easily. It also told her that she wanted him to stay on the line a little longer.

"Don't tell Nate I called. Please?"

Chuck smiled. Like he was really going to go up to Nathaniel and be like, _dude, I was just telling your girlfriend how much you suck._ "B, wait… Where are you right now?"

Blair made a noise of disgust, and Chuck pretended to feel hurt. "What? You are **not** coming over. I'm mad at you, remember?"

"Come on," he pleaded, using his own special brand of Seduction 101. "I really need your help."

Blair momentarily forgot her rage and her headache due to her peaked interest. "This sounds promising…But I must inform you that social destruction of Serena is no longer required." The only person she would have liked to destroy right then was her stupid boyfriend, but apparently she loved him too much to ever make him pay for his mistakes.

"Oh, no," Chuck laughed. "It's something much more… _straight-edge_ than that."

For some reason, that made Blair giggle a little. "OK, I think that requires some explanation."

So Chuck began describing his plans to start taking an active role in his father's business empire. He had some overarching designs worked out, knew the kinds of places he wanted to invest in, but he was having a much more difficult time explaining it to Blair than he originally thought he would. Perhaps he **could** use her services, after all. And, this way, he would actually be getting something out of cheering Blair Waldorf up. Chuck didn't like doing nice things for free. It made him feel sappy.

Blair smiled fondly at the way Chuck tripped over his words, his frantic ideas stumbling into each other as they all tried to get out at the same time. He was so excited about doing something for his father, it was almost infectious.

"I just hope your father doesn't die from shock when he sees you actually being serious about something," she teased once he had completed his haphazard presentation.

"So, are you busy right now? Think you could help a poor devil out?"

"I'm not really in any condition to be spouting genius business ideas…" she murmured, feeling a little bad at the thought of faking her way through helping Chuck out. If he was really going to try to impress his father, he could probably use someone in the right state of mind. With actual experience in the subject matter.

"Don't worry, I've got my hangover cure ready to go," he assured her. "Besides, I'm pretty sure most brilliant ideas have come to the great men of our time while they were under some sort of influence."

She sighed, resigned to signing away the rest of her night to Chuck Bass. That was a pretty weird feeling. "I guess it would be intriguing to have a hand in the creation of Chuck Bass: Business Mogul."

"Really?" He inquired, trying to dial back his excitement. It was just a stupid burlesque club, anyway. "You don't need to catch up on your beauty rest?"

"I have all of Sunday for that. Besides, it's not like I **need** to look beautiful for anyone, anyway. No one wants to—"

"Blair, if you keep talking about this, I will be forced to prove you wrong. And nobody will blame me for it," he said warningly.

She raised an eyebrow, now thoroughly shocked out of her drunken stupor. "Is that a threat?"

"Think of it more as a promise."

"You're heinous," she huffed. "Be at my penthouse in fifteen."

* * *

Chuck hung up the phone and walked back into the suite, feeling pretty pleased with himself. He sure knew how to take care of _other people's_ girlfriends. Nate was eyeing him eagerly as he entered the room, clearly waiting to live vicariously through his slimy best friend.

Clearing his throat, Chuck began, "Sorry about that, Nathaniel, I've got to be somewhere. You can still stay over, though. I'll probably be back around 4. Maybe 5."

"Nah, I've got to go home soon, anyway. My parents are probably going to want to tell me about the party with Eleanor." He waited for Chuck to tell his story, but got nothing out of him. Usually, he was more forthcoming. What was the deal? "So, who is she, man?" Nate's eyes glowed with a rare light. "Spill!"

Chuck let out a gravelly laugh as his mind raced for the proper _contortion_ of the truth (Chuck never lied, mind you). "Just a little tiger I can't seem to get rid of."

"Oh, that Princeton rep? Jessica?"

Chuck smiled in a way that allowed Nate to think he had hit the nail on the head. "Well, looks like I'm going to get her to check out my business proposal. Make sure my dad will buy into it."

Nate smiled appreciatively. "In exchange for you offering her _your_ services, I'm sure."

"Always try to mix business with pleasure, my friend," Chuck replied, pretending to tip his imaginary hat as he closed the door.

Nate sank back into the couch once he was alone in the suite. Mix business with pleasure, huh? He guessed that was what his dad was always trying to get him to do with Blair.


	3. you fell hard on the ground

**You're The Only One Who…**

Summary: Just a collection of times that Blair drunk dialed Chuck. Inspired by his infamous line in 'Woman on the Verge.' This one actually turns things around a bit, and we get to see some drunk Chuck instead ;) Takes place after 'Blair Waldorf Must Pie.'  
Author's Note: Oh, how I wish I had created Gossip Girl. Then there would be a proper explanation for why I'm so obsessed.

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**you fell hard on the ground**

--

Blair threw herself on the bed and clutched her pillow, infinitely relieved that there was no one around to see her behaving in such an unladylike fashion. How could she have been so stupid as to let her mom manipulate everything on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of the year? Sure, they had made up and Blair kind of understood where Eleanor was coming from. In fact, she was sure that, if she were in her mother's shoes, she would have done the _exact_ same thing. Like mother, like daughter…Sadly. But that didn't mean she suddenly felt okay about it.

No. In fact, she didn't feel okay **at all**. She had let her anger and her desperate need to control everything get the best of her once again, and now she was dangerously close to falling back in the black hole that was her life a year ago. She couldn't believe she had relapsed _again_. Wasn't she supposed to have this under control? Now it was going to be hell going to the doctor again, having to 'talk about her problems.' She hated feeling so weak—like someone who 'needed help.' She didn't need help; she just needed people to leave her the hell alone.

Well, not _everyone_ had to leave her alone. For example, it would have been nice if a particular someone-who-shall-not-be-named hadn't had to go off to Turks and Caicos or whatever the fuck Caribbean island to 'enjoy' his Thanksgiving in ways that made her skin crawl. If he were here, he'd either be cracking so many jokes she wouldn't be able to think of why she was so unhappy… or else he'd be pounding into her so hard that she wouldn't be able to think of anything else at all.

_Gross, Blair! What the hell is wrong with you? _She hit herself in the forehead, completely disgusted by the images she was creating for herself. Okay, maybe 'disgusted' wasn't the right word. She was at least disgusted by the fact that she **wasn't** disgusted.

She wondered if he was screwing someone else right then, at the same exact time that she was thinking about screwing him. That would be poetic, wouldn't it? She wanted to call him, but that was way too desperate. She thought about getting drunk and watching some Audrey movies, but Serena didn't ever want to drink anymore and drinking by yourself was no fun at all. Plus, she had definitely thrown up enough for one day.

* * *

Her phone rang, suddenly jolting her out of her funk. For a second, she really thought she was dreaming, because her phone was playing "Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake. Only one person had that song as their ring tone (it was meant to be ironic, okay?), and there was no way _he_ was calling right then. However, it just kept on ringing—announcing its reality to the world—so she finally picked up right before it would have gone to voice mail.

"Hey, Chuck," she greeted him with the most nonchalant voice she could muster. "Is the Caribbean really _that_ boring?"

"Blair, baby!" He slurred happily, clearly intoxicated. She had taken far too long to answer, and he had started to worry that something had happened to her. Or that she was screening his call. Would she do that? Was he being too pushy? Perhaps he should hang up and just deny that he had ever called in the first place? It's not like he was even on her radar enough for her to remember this conversation.

Blair couldn't decide whether to be extremely pleased or horrified by this…_word_ he had just called her. So she settled for some kind of in-between disbelief. "Ugh," she groaned. "You did **not** just call me that."

Chuck grinned. "I didn't call you anything. I just…. I miss you." Oh, no. This had been a terrible idea. Why was he still on the phone? He definitely did not miss her in any way, shape, or form. He was totally having the best time, and not at all thinking about petite brunettes who may or may not be waiting for him at home.

"Stop being ridiculous," she replied, but without any real edge to her voice. She heard him hiccup and furrowed her brows in response. "…Are you _drunk_?" Chuck Bass drank way too much already to ever actually be** drunk**. Or, at least, that was the impression she had always been under previous to now. Yet now he was drunk and missing her. That was kind of…cute. She smiled to herself.

"Yeah…" he answered her sheepishly. "But I still would if I weren't." He stopped just for a second, wondering if what he had just said made sense. Considering he was already in enough trouble as it was, he thought it wouldn't hurt to explain himself more clearly. "I think I might be drunk_ because_ I miss you."

Not knowing how to respond appropriately, she let out a soft laugh instead. "Chuck, control yourself, please," she chided him teasingly.

"Fine, I'm sorry I said anything," he said grumpily, once again regretting ever having this conversation to begin with. He had the slightest inclination to hang up, but he really didn't want to. What he _wanted_ was for her to…

Blair sighed. Grudgingly, she replied, "You know I miss you, too."

Yes. **That** was what he wanted. "If I knew, why would I want you to say it?" He asked in a joking tone that came out kind of half-hearted and basically just gross and emo.

Her wide smile faltered the second she heard loud sounds coming from the phone, all around Chuck. "Where are you?" She asked, suddenly suspicious, but trying her hardest not to sound it.

"Oh…" Chuck began nonchalantly. "I'm at a strip club."

Blair blanched, doing her best to avoid the screaming fit that was threatening to overtake her. Sucking in a deep breath, she counted to ten quickly in her mind and repeated his statement back to him. "You're in…a strip club?" The attempt to sound calm had fallen a little flat—her voice still went up way too high on the word 'strip.'

"Yeah…It was Brandforth's idea. I didn't really want to go," Chuck explained, feeling pretty damn pleased with himself.

Blair was fuming. She knew her breathing was getting a little heavier, but she couldn't stop it from happening. She couldn't tell who she was more pissed off at—him or herself. He was a pervert and a sexaholic, true, but it wasn't like she had ever even suggested that they be exclusive. It just infuriated her that he could be whispering the Chuck Bass equivalent of sweet nothings in her ear and, at the same time, be watching women far sexier than herself remove articles of their clothing for him.

After listening to Blair's silent frustration for a little while, Chuck took on a placating tone and said, "You're still ten times hotter than any of these girls."

Blair grimaced. "I don't really care, Chuck." She was surprised to hear his reply in the form of a boisterous laugh she had never heard from him before. He sounded almost _dorky_.

"I was just kidding, Blair," he laughed again, and she just knew he was wearing his signature smirk. "Branforth _is _at a strip club, but I stayed at the hotel." Resuming his original, nearing-baby-talk voice, he continued, "I'd rather talk to you than be anywhere else."

As much as that comment made her want to giggle against her will, her suspicions were not entirely quieted. "Then what's all that noise I hear?"

Her less-than-subtle jealousy made the entire phone call worth it, and his drunken brain seemed to be suggesting that he do a little dance. He was not going to oblige, however. Because that would just be lame. "I'm watching a loud movie," he informed her, his voice growing a little hoarse as he spoke. "There's a lot of action. Action I'm not getting, just so you know."

She let out a small, breathy laugh, but she felt completely conflicted now. What in the world was she supposed to say to that? She had what she wanted—an apparently exclusive **thing** with Chuck. But how was it fair to obtain that sort of promise from him when she didn't even know how she felt about him?

She knew he had butterflies. And he made her happy—much happier than she'd felt in too long to recall—but she didn't think she was suffering from his particular ailments. She hadn't lost any sleep; up until that day, she had been eating relatively normally; she definitely didn't feel the need to get drunk because he wasn't around. Sure, she found herself wishing he were around more often, but she was certain that was merely due to the physical satisfaction he provided. She hadn't necessarily thought about Nate lately, but she was sure she still loved him. She had to, because feelings like that didn't just go away. Right?

Chuck realized, too late once more, that he was making Blair uncomfortable. Struggling for a subject change, he finally asked, "How was your Thanksgiving?"

She blew a strand of hair out of her face, not even bothering to hesitate in her reply. She had never had a problem sharing things with Chuck. "It was really crappy," she admitted simply, surprised at how disconnected she now felt from the pain that had consumed her just hours ago.

"Yeah?" There was a hint of worry in his voice, but he smoothed it over with more awkward drunken luuuuurve. "I bet mine was worse."

"Aww, what happened?"

"Well… You weren't there, for one." He felt like he was going to be sick, but was unsure if it was due to that last Irish Car Bomb or the lame shit he was already spewing all over the place.

"My dad wasn't at mine," she countered easily, but she could already feel the knot in her stomach forming once again. Obviously, she was not as in control as she thought.

"Oh." Chuck sat up straighter, feeling about as sobered up as he would if someone had just dunked him head first in a bucket of ice water. "I guess you win."

Her response was another laugh, but he heard a sadness in it that cut through him like a knife. "Do you want me to come over?"

"You're overseas, Chuck." She shook her head, but truly appreciated the sentiment.

"That's what the Bass private jet is for, sweetheart," he reminded her.

"No, thank you," she said, starting to smile again.

"Are you sure?" He furrowed his brows a little, debating if he should just ignore her and go back, anyway. "It'll only take a couple of hours. If you're sad, I want to—" He cut himself off, because he had not idea how he was planning on finishing that sentence. Make you laugh? Screw your brains out? Watch you cry? Hold you? Love—_Note to brain: shut up. Shut up!_

"You're sweet, Chuck," Blair whispered, thinking he might not like hearing that particular compliment. In a firmer voice, she continued, "I'll be seeing you in a couple of days, anyway." She would have loved for him to drop everything and come to her side, but she had to start learning to deal with things on her own. She wasn't some little girl, and she certainly didn't need men to take care of her. They would always let her down in the end, anyway.

When intoxicated, Chuck became even more possessive and jealous than usual. Which was saying a lot. "Have you been seeing Nate around?" He wondered out loud, his voice taking on a strangely affected tone, as if he couldn't really care less, but obviously actually cared a lot. After all, if Blair wasn't interested in seeing _him_, maybe it was because she would rather see Nate.

"Huh?" Blair was momentarily taken aback, wondering how the conversation had turned to her ex-boyfriend. Presuming that perhaps Chuck hadn't been able to get ahold of him, she thought back to the last time she had seen him. "I think I saw him the other day, while I was shopping…"

"What happened?" Chuck asked, suddenly very insistent. "Did you two—"

_Now_ it all made sense. Blair rolled her eyes and scoffed into the phone. Her constant fear was strippers, and now it appeared **his** constant fear was his best friend. "Please. He was with his mom; I was with Serena."

"How'd he look?" He tried again, but with a more guarded manner this time.

"Distraught," Blair replied crisply, hoping to snap Chuck back into what really mattered. "His mother was wearing sunglasses to hide herself from onlookers."

Jesus. "I'm a terrible best friend," Chuck practically wailed. "The worst that ever existed, actually."

Blair smiled fondly, finding herself filled with compassion for this odd little Chuck on the phone with her. "You're a very good friend to _me_," she said seductively.

Chuck bit his lip, wanting very badly to touch her right then. "As good as that sounds, Waldorf, I'd still like to think I'm more than that."

Blair felt her breath catch in her throat. "Chuck…"

_Well, that was a less than enthusiastic response_. Chuck decided it was definitely time for this conversation to come to a close. "So, I guess I'll see you later."

But before he could hang up, Blair rushed to ask him, "Will you come see me on Sunday?" Knowing she had caught his attention, she continued in a husky voice she had only ever used with him, "By then, I'll have missed you enough that you'll get quite the cozy Welcome Back party."

"Tempting, very tempting…" He started licking his lips, and felt the urge to reach for another bottle of liquor. "I'll have you know, though, I don't need any fancy gathering."

"Don't worry. This one will be very… intimate."

Chuck nearly choked on his drink, so turned on was he by the sudden turn she was taking. "Say no more. I'll be there." He paused shortly before realizing there was something better he could say.

"If you want to say more, though, I'm all ears. I need to be _prepared_ for exactly what will be awaiting me at this party of yours."


	4. bring you down

**You're The Only One Who…**

Summary: Just a collection of times that Blair drunk dialed Chuck. Inspired by his infamous line in 'Woman on the Verge.' This one is a little less fluff, a little bit more angsty. Right after 'Roman Holiday.'  
Author's Note: This is the only outlet through which I can express my frustration over not owning Gossip Girl.

--

**a part of me that likes to bring you down**

--

Blair sat locked up in her room after the Christmas festivities were over and her father had gone home, surrounded by as much eggnog and white wine as she could coax out of Dorota. It really paid to be super close with your maid—as long as she didn't leave the house or get herself into any kind of trouble, she was allowed to indulge in as much alcohol as she wanted for the evening. _Thank God for that_.

That stupid picture of Chuck possessively wrapping his arm around Nate and smirking lecherously into the camera (just for _her_, she was sure) was the cause of all her suffering. How dare he think he could just waltz in and ruin everything she had worked so hard for? It was his own fault she was even back with Nate, anyway. She had been ready—or at least preparing—to move on. With Chuck. She cringed at the thought.

It was as if he was trying to say that Nate had belonged to him first. Her mind, of course, made the connection that she, too, now officially belonged to _him first_. God damnit. Now he was laughing at her because, if it came down to it, Nate would take Chuck's side over Blair's. But that couldn't be true, not if Nate knew the truth: that Chuck had callously seduced his vulnerable ex-girlfriend while she was still very much in love with Nate himself. _Right_, she scolded herself. _And then said vulnerable ex-girlfriend just kept on coming back for more, and was so vulnerable she decided to start secretly dating Chuck._ **That** would go over well.

And then there was the other worry, hidden deep under layers and layers of anger and frustration. Why was Chuck doing this? Sure, he liked to play around and make music out of everyone else's misery, but why would he try to hurt his own best friend like this? And, not to mention, hurt **her**. She and Chuck had always been close. He had never pulled something like this before—never against her. The only conclusion she could come to was that he was really hurt. By their supposed break-up, or by the fact that she had slept with Nate, she didn't know. He had left for Monaco immediately after, as if he were running away from something. Away from her? Or away from his guilt for betraying Nate? _He clearly has no problem betraying Nate right now_.

It didn't matter how Chuck felt, she told herself. She had Nate back in the palm of her hand, and that was all that mattered. But if that was true, then why had she been calling Chuck non-stop since the day he left?

* * *

Chuck sat slumped on the couch of his hotel suite in Monaco, as Nate paced around the room, itching to go out.

"How about we hit a club, man?" Nate asked giddily, nudging his best friend in the arm. They had had quite a bit of fun the last few days, but ever since the last text message Chuck had received, about two hours ago, he had fallen into some kind of weirdly depressive state. It made Nate pretty uncomfortable, since he had never seen Chuck be less than extremely thrilled about his own depravity.

Chuck just shook his head, calmly replying, "I think I'm going to call it a night. You can go out, though. I'd hate to ruin your vacation."

Nate sat down next to Chuck, racking his brain for something to cheer his best friend up. He knew that Chuck was always hoping Nate would follow in his footsteps, so maybe he could start by sharing some tidbits about his evening with Blair. Hadn't it always been Chuck who was pushing him to 'seal the deal?' Nate felt bad about kissing and telling, but Chuck seemed so down, it had to be worth it.

"So…" he began in a playful tone that caused Chuck to look up at him with mild expectation. "You know that Blair and I—"

"Yeah, I figured as much," Chuck cut him off a little abruptly, but tried to smile knowingly.

Nate was slightly taken aback. Chuck didn't seem to be very interested in the details. "So, are you proud of me or what, Chuck?"

Chuck's facial expression hardened for a moment, but then resumed its naturally perverted glory. "Of course I am. I knew you'd get around to it one day."

"But you haven't asked me anything about it," Nate prodded, searching for clues in Chuck's demeanor. He had never been very good at this seeing-through-people thing.

"I'm not going to pry into your personal life like that, Nathaniel," Chuck countered, reaching for his fifth scotch of the evening. If he was going to have to hear all about Blair losing her 'virginity,' he was definitely not going to do it sober.

Nate laughed. "But you **always **want to hear about my sex life."

Chuck smirked. "I knew about you having sex with Serena for _six months _before you came clean to me. Did I ever ask you about it even once?"

Nate crossed his arms, pretending to be offended. "So what you're saying is that you only want to hear about all the times I _don't_ have sex?"

Chuck forced himself to laugh and patted Nate on the back, "Come on, tell me all about how you melted the Ice Queen." Inside, he was glowering, praying for some lightening bolt that might strike both him and his precious Nathaniel down before this charade could go any further.

* * *

About an hour later, once Chuck had just about drowned himself in alcohol and Nate had finally left for the club after blabbering endlessly about how 'amazing' Blair had been, the phone rang. _So she got the message_, Chuck thought grimly to himself as he picked up.

"What is wrong with you?" She screeched into the phone. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Well, hello to you, too," he drawled. At least he could still get her blood going, if that counted for anything anymore.

"So **now** you pick up, huh?" She said venomously. "Why, so you can gloat?"

"I don't have anything to gloat about," he bit back. "I've just laid my cards out on the table. Now you can decide what your next move is going to be."

"You're pathetic, you know that?" She sighed as her hand nearly crushed the phone in frustration. "This really is your weakest card ever."

"It's the only one I have left." He shrugged, not even caring that he had already let her win by even having this conversation. "You saw to that."

"What does that even mean?" She asked, outraged once more. "Am I supposed to feel **sorry **for you?"

He winced at the notion that he was someone to feel sorry for, but as long as he wouldn't remember this phone call in the morning, he could run with it all he wanted right now. "I put myself out there, and you just laugh in my face." He paused to down another drink before continuing. "I always knew you were a first-class bitch, I just thought you were at least loyal to your minions."

Before she could interrupt to either defend herself or attack him, he finished with, "I guess I should be thanking you for stabbing me in the face instead of the back."

"Excuse me?" Blair cried, almost pulling her hair out because she didn't have him there to grab or kick. "You ruined my cotillion _on purpose_. You tried to keep me away from Nate when I wasn't even planning on…" It was there that she faltered. That was not information that she wanted him to have.

Chuck sat up straight just then. "Planning on what?" He prompted. "Keep talking, Waldorf."

Blair shook her head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"The truth always matters," he shot back. "Just tell me, for once, what the hell is going through your mind."

"Don't you know already?" She replied sarcastically. "I thought Chuck Bass knew **everything**."

He rubbed his left temple with his free hand. "Blair, I swear to God—"

"God doesn't listen to you," she scoffed. But something, whether it be the unearthly amount of alcohol she had just imbibed or the broken sound of his voice from far away, made her think that honesty wasn't such a bad thing after all. "I've called you, like, 28 times in the last week. I was **worried **about you. I called you hours after Nate and I… Does that mean nothing to you?" She sighed, hating herself for always having to be sincere around him. "Think about it."

After a brief silence, during which he tried to remind himself that she was his best friend's girlfriend once more, he finally spoke up. "I assume Nathaniel failed to properly excite you, and you were calling to chew me out for not training him properly." His tone was full of bitterness.

"You're so full of it," she spat. How dare he make her sound so disgustingly sexual? "For your information, I had the best sex I've ever had in my life with Nate. It was perfect." That was definitely the first flat-out lie she had ever told Chuck.

"Is that so?" He whispered, his voice shockingly low and gravelly, already doing more for her than Nate's hands ever could. "So, you're telling me he made you come multiple times…Maybe even just by using his fingers?"

"Well…"

"Does he even know where to touch you?" Chuck continued, sounding warmer now. "Does he know the spot that makes you completely lose control?"

"Chuck, please, stop right now…" Blair whispered back, closing her eyes and trying not to imagine Chuck doing those things to her right then. Thank goodness she and Nate hadn't made anything official yet, because this had to count as some form of cheating.

"I just hope you remembered to say his name. Because you were clearly thinking of mine," he finished, using all his willpower to remain unaffected by the picture he was painting for her. "There's only one reason a girl would call another guy after sleeping with the man of her dreams. I know that much."

"Clearly, you don't know enough," Blair answered, incensed that Chuck had made her feeling so uncomfortably turned on. "It's different with Nate. There are **feelings** there, so of course it was more special."

Chuck fell silent, and she knew those words had stung him. She waited for his biting comeback, but when none came, she knew she had gone too far. "Chuck, I'm sorry… That's not even—"

"Shut up," he commanded in as clipped a tone of voice as he could manage. "I get it. We had our little fun, and now it's time for your 'feelings' to take over. I mean, we all know _I_ have no feelings. I'm a robot." He let out a sharp laugh and tried to calm himself by taking a deep breath. "Butterflies? What the hell was I talking about? It was clearly indigestion, because they're long gone now. Maybe your party just served some rotten sushi."

Blair already felt like she wanted to vomit and then maybe die. She wasn't used to having the power to hurt Chuck, and she had no idea what to do with it. How could she make this better? The only way she knew of was impossible at this point. He couldn't be trusted anymore, she couldn't ever give herself over to him again, and Nate could **never** find out that she ever had.

"Can't we just forget about this, Bass?" She pleaded with him. "I'm with Nate again, I know, but the three of us have always been so close."

"Maybe you misunderstood me before," Chuck said, smirking once again. "You are _not_ going to be with Nate. Not unless you want him to know the truth about you."

"Why are you doing this to me, Chuck?" She said, with more anger and less compunction this time around. "Aren't we supposed to be friends? You've always been on my side before—"

"Maybe I was never your friend, Princess. Did you ever think about that?" he replied coolly, in a voice he himself didn't even recognize. He already regretted the words before they were out of his mouth. "Maybe I just wanted to be the first inside of you, fucking you senseless. And this was just the only way you'd let me. Well, now **that's** over, so I'm—"

He didn't get to finish whatever disgusting bullshit he was spouting, because Blair had already hung up. _Good._ That was exactly what he wanted.

He threw his glass against the wall and watched as it shattered into a million little pieces. As many pieces as the heart he had never had in the first place.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself to the bed and crawl under the covers, hoping maybe they would suffocate him before Nate got back.

* * *

Nearly half an hour later, Blair was still lying on top of her bed, crying her eyes out. Dorota had attempted to get in the room several times, but Blair had bolted it shut. She tried to control herself, tried to quiet her sobs, or at least stop thinking about Chuck's words. Or what he must have been feeling to be able say those words. Unfortunately, the mere fact that she was crying over Chuck Bass made the tears fall even harder and faster. She was going to run out of liquid in her body soon.

The phone she had thrown across the room began buzzing, indicating an incoming text. As she moved to find it, she thought that she could at least be thankful that it wasn't broken.

She opened it to find that the text was from Chuck. Whether that made her happy or desperately sad, she had no idea.

**U know i didn't mean any of that.**

She nearly smiled through her tears. Of course he didn't mean it. He just knew how to hurt people. And so did she.

**I know. I didn't mean it either.** She sent the acceptance and apology back to him, glad to see that even the worst of their fights could be resolved with a few written words.

**Ur still not allowed around N.**

She scoffed in disbelief. Was he _serious?_ Rolling her eyes, she readied herself for the upcoming battle when he returned. Chuck Bass better bring it, because the game was definitely _on_.


	5. how to handle me

**You're The Only One Who…**

Summary: Just a collection of times that Blair drunk dialed Chuck. Inspired by his infamous line in 'Woman on the Verge.' This one is almost pure fluff and takes place sometime after 'Desperately Seeking Serena.' Chuck is at a bachelor party; Blair is partying with Serena.  
Author's Note: Gossip Girl _wishes_ it was mine :P

--

**knows how to handle me**

--

Chuck smiled proudly at the flawless execution of all his hard work; he had planned the perfect bachelor party for his father, and it was all coming to fruition. He had made everything as tasteful and elegant as possible, as befitting a man of Bart's station, but without neglecting the sensuous side of his father's last days as a single man. It was a burlesque, not a strip tease, and the only thing that could have made it more enjoyable was having Nate or Eric around to partake of the festivities. Well, that, and it would also help if **he** felt in the mood to share in his own success.

He wouldn't dream of going off with a woman with Bart's watchful eye trained on him, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to secure one for later in the evening—once he was left alone in his hotel room. Yet, despite the fact that he had flirted shamelessly with everyone from the waitress to Pauline Ducruet (daughter of HSM Princess Stéphanie and 8th in line to the throne of Monaco, thank you very much), he had no interest in or intention of going to bed with any of them. What was wrong with him?

He was ruined. Ruined forever. He wondered how the entire population of Constance Billard had somehow failed to notice that he was no longer plowing his way through the girls. He guessed his reputation would hold up for a little while longer, but how long until someone noticed and it broke out all over Gossip Girl? Blair would think (okay, more like she would _know_) that it was because of her, and then she would secretly gloat that she had won the game after all. Damn her.

He nearly shuddered as he thought of Blair, remembering the last words he had spoken to her. What had possessed him to be so cruel? What had even possessed him to text Gossip Girl in the first place? He should have known Nate would eventually realize his best friend was the 'other guy.' Chuck didn't know why he even bothered, seeing as his meticulous plans always seemed to backfire when Blair was involved. If scheming was his superpower, then Blair was his kryptonite.

She had been ready to take him back, though. That was the irony of it all. Technically, it had worked, because—no matter what words she cloaked it in to hide her wounded pride—she had asked him to **be with her**. What the hell was wrong with him that he had turned her down?

The truth was, he didn't want _that_ Blair. He didn't want a broken, bruised ex-queen who was only coming to him because she had nowhere else to turn. He wanted her to come to him of her own volition, with her head held high, not caring what others thought because **he** was the man she had chosen. So, obviously, he had to go and make it that scenario a physical impossibility. Because at least then, he wouldn't have to face the fact that she **hadn't** chosen him first.

Somehow, in that moment, the forces of the universe aligned, and Chuck's phone rang.

* * *

"Just one more shot, S!" Blair cried giddily, flailing as she tried to grab the small drink out of her best friend's hand.

Serena laughed and shook her head tauntingly. "No, no more for you, my Queen." She wagged a finger in an imitation of disappointment. "You've had far too much, and I'm getting jealous. It's no fun being the designated sober person, you know."

Blair rolled her eyes. "More like 'self-appointed' sober person. It's not **my** fault you never drink anymore."

Serena nodded, but cringed on the inside, remembering what had happened the _last_ time she had drunk too much. Waking up in Georgie's bed and missing her SATs was not an experience she planned on repeating any time soon. Thankfully, Georgina seemed to have disappeared from her life for now, so she supposed she shouldn't worry too much.

"Besides," Blair continued, now suddenly drowsy. Her moods shifted erratically whenever she drank. "I must drink to celebrate my fast rise back to the top. It's a categorizing imperilative."

Serena raised an eyebrow. "A _categorical_ _imperative_, you mean? You know it's time to quit when **I'm **correcting your vocabulary."

Blair sighed heavily, already setting aside the very matter she was supposed to be celebrating. "Chuck would be happy for me." She blew a stray hair out of her face. "I miss him."

"Okay, I take back my previous statement," Serena amended, wide-eyed. "**This** is when you know it's time to quit." She wondered if this was perhaps the best time to work on Blair to resolve her issues with Chuck. Serena was tired of seeing their icy-but-maybe-actually-just-longing glares in the hallway. Who ever knew what those two were feeling?

Blair apparently read her mind, because she pulled out her phone and proudly declared, "I'm going to call him!"

Serena covered her eyes and silently prayed to whatever gods watched over destructive teenage relationships. This conversation would probably end in tears, and it would be her job to clean it all up afterward.

* * *

Chuck hesitated upon seeing Blair's name on the caller ID. He wanted to pick up very badly, but what if she was just calling to bitch him out? He guessed hearing her angry voice would at least be better than hearing nothing from her at all, so that shouldn't be a problem. But how lame would it look to answer her call while at his father's bachelor party? He was better than that. For all she knew, he could be screwing three different women right—

_Oh, fuck it. _He picked up on the second ring.

"Chu-uck!" Her voice came through the line paradoxically melodic and broken up by long-distance static.

"Is this a habit of yours, Blair?" He greeted her, careful not to allow too much inflection into his voice. He refused to be happy to hear from her until he could be sure that she was happy to speak to _him_.

"How is your party?" She asked sweetly, but before allowing him to respond, she added, "I'm having my own party. Do you want to know the theme of my party?"

He couldn't help smiling at how innocent she sounded, like a little girl who was pleased with her first drawing of a garden. "I would love to know the theme of this party of yours."

"It called the 'I don't care that Chuck Bass thinks I'm a used horse because all my Constance minions still love me anyway' party," she announced smugly.

Chuck nearly groaned. He was not apologizing to this drunken, eerily happy Blair. It wouldn't do him any good, anyway. "It sounds like quite the party. I take it you are well on your way to regaining your throne, then?"

"I took down little Jenny Humphrey so hard last week—you should have seen it. Of course, then she got me back by whoring Nate out to Penelope for some cool points. But I'm in the lead now, because I took Nelly Yuki's batteries out of her calculator, so she totally bombed her SATs…."

"Wait," Chuck stopped her, scratching his head. "I'm confused, what did Nelly Yuki do to you?"

"That's not the point," Blair scoffed. "The point is that Penelope and Iz now know that I am the reason they even have a shot at the Ivies."

"Ah," Chuck nodded approvingly. "Making them forever indebted to you. Good plan. Very Queen-like."

"You would have been so proud of me," she let out a satisfied sigh, but soon shifted gears. "Then again, maybe not, since you're the reason I'm having to do all this in the first place."

Okay, so maybe an apology of sorts wouldn't hurt. But just in the interest of enjoying a pleasant conversation with an old friend, nothing more. "Blair, I know I was harsh, okay? I was just angry, and I lashed out. You know how I am."

"Maybe…" Blair acquiesced the point hesitantly. "But I just don't understand why you were so **mad** at me…"

Blair was pretty drunk right now. Drunk enough that she probably wouldn't remember the contents of the phone call. Maybe, if he just explained it clearly now, it would be like practice for the future. For when he actually felt like getting her back. After he had patched things up with Nathaniel, of course.

He took a deep breath and thought about how best to say what he was thinking. "I was angry because you didn't want me, Blair. Quite a blow to the ego for a man such as myself. Self-aggrandizing sleazeball that I am, I thought I should mean more to you than I did, and I couldn't deal with the fact that I simply didn't."

She giggled, which surprised him. He didn't like being laughed at when he was actually trying to be heartfelt.

"You only thought that because _I_ was angry, so I was lashing out, too," she explained to him in a sing-song voice, as if she were a daycare teacher teaching a little boy the alphabet. "I think you mean a lot more to me than I think you think you do," she concluded.

Chuck tried to wrap his brain around her convoluted syntax, but overall, he was pretty sure he understood the gist of her statement. She was saying she _cared_ about him. That was definitely a start.

He had to suppress the grin that was breaking across his face, so he reminded himself that this was just the alcohol talking. The next time she saw him, she'd still tell him to drop dead, and he'd once more wonder if she even cared whether or not he was alive.

Still…it would be nice to know for sure. "Can we talk about this when I get back, Blair?"

"Why?" She asked suspiciously. "You've got a girl waiting for you? Or do you just not want to talk to me anymore?"

"Neither," he assured her. "I just want to be able to watch your eyes while having this conversation. See if they match your mouth for once."

Blair furrowed her eyebrows. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you being lascivitous?"

He gave her a short chuckle. "No, I am not being… lascivitous, was it? That was most certainly not my intention."

"So what were you implying, then?" She challenged him, her voice rising. She saw Serena start to come towards her, most likely to keep her from making a complete fool of herself in a room full of strangers. She kept the phone out of Serena's reach, though, and continued hounding Chuck for an explanation."

"I just meant I'd like to discuss your unhealthy obsession with me while you're sober, that's all," he finally offered.

Blair made one of those familiar noises of disgust that he loved so much. "As if!" Boy, she really could be quite the Cher Horowitz while inebriated. "Ill be honest, Chuckles—"

"What the fuck?" He asked almost angrily, nearly blushing at the reminder of his wasted youth. Blair hadn't called him that pathetic name since they were 12—before his mom died.

She continued as if there had been no interruption. "If you think that I'll be willing to speak to you while sober, you are either high or completely delusional."

"Point taken," he agreed.

"So… You better take the opportunity I'm generously offering you, because chances are you'll never get another one."

"I'm a betting man," he boasted. "I'm willing to take those chances in the hopes of talking to you when you have an actual frame of reference."

"Well, you can talk to the hand, Bass, because I won't be listening." She smirked into the phone, pleased with how she always managed to have the upper hand.

Serena rolled her eyes and mouthed 'fifth grade much?' But Blair didn't care; she was having far too much fun resuming her usual banter with Chuck. She really _had_ missed this (and maybe him a little bit, too).

"Well, Blair," Chuck replied in a gravelly tone that sent chills down her spine, "I guess I'll just have to find a way to **make** you listen, won't I?"

She felt like she couldn't breathe. "I guess you will," she nearly whispered, resisting the urge to gulp. "I'll be interested to see what you come up with," she teased in as light a voice as she could manage.

_Right. Me, too_, he thought glumly. As if he had any chance in hell of getting Blair back when she was in her right mind, especially considering his knowledge of romance amounted to forcing himself to stay awake while Blair replayed the "you belong to me" scene in **Breakfast At Tiffany's** over and over again until he had Paul Varjak's speech forever etched into his skull.

"Goodnight, Blair," he said throatily, finally having decided against quoting some good old-fashioned 'I don't want to put you in a cage'-type gems.

"Goodnight, Chuck," Blair replied amicably, hanging up the phone and blowing a kiss into the thin air.

* * *

Serena wrenched the phone from her and pretended to blush. "Why, thank you, darling, but I think it's too early in our relationship to be getting physical."

Blair rolled her eyes. "That was meant for Chuck. **Duh**."


	6. knows exactly what i mean

**You're The Only One Who…**

Summary: My final drunk-dial between Chuck and Blair in season one. This one takes place a week after the end of "Much I Do About Nothing" and is my attempt to wrap my head around why Blair asked Chuck for those three words, eight letters in the season premiere.  
Author's Note: I didn't create Gossip Girl or Chuck and Blair. If I had, they would be much happier, but much less interesting.

--

**knows exactly what i mean**

--

Chuck glanced wearily around his new bedroom in the Van der Woodsen-Bass apartment. Everything around him was new and shiny, but inside he just felt used and broken. What the hell was his problem? He had ditched his beautiful, brilliant Blair on a whim—a mere 10 second stretch of panic caused by his father's well-meaning but ill-timed speech on responsibility.

Was it somehow more _responsible_ to leave Blair waiting for him and break her heart now than to go with her and let her heart break even worse later on? He liked to think he was being a martyr. He knew that once she spent long enough with him, she would see just how worthless he was, and her precious brown eyes would fill with tears, thinking about all the time she had wasted on him. It was definitely better this way.

He had tried to completely sever his ties to Blair by sleeping with the interior decorator, whatever her name was, but that most certainly hadn't worked. In fact, it probably wouldn't have worked even if he had been able to go through with it—which, of course, he couldn't.

The moment he had he led her to his room, he had received another text message from Blair herself. **Plane's taking off. Miss u already**, it had said. He had never hated himself more than in that exact moment. What had he been thinking? Was he really going to be just another Nate? Was sleeping with someone else—cheating on the most perfect person on the planet—somehow going to make him feel better about himself? He had dismissed the stick figure woman without another thought and immediately took to drink. And he hadn't stopped since.

It had been a week already, and he was still just sitting in his room, ordering room service and an endless supply of scotch. He had only gotten up to shower and use the restroom. Serena had stopped by at least once a day to try to knock some sense into him, but she had not succeeded in the least. She had finally left for the Hamptons yesterday, asking him to please join her there if he was going to keep being 'a pathetic coward and a pain in my ass.'

His phone had buzzed quite a few times over the last five days with text messages and voice mails that he knew must be from Blair, but he couldn't bring himself to listen to them. They would just make him want to be with her, go after her and explain how much she meant to him, and then never leave her side again. But men like him didn't deserve women like Blair Waldorf, and by now, she had probably figured that out.

Tonight, though, he was feeling particularly lonely. He knew Blair had probably already made it to her father's chateau by now. Tonight marked the end of what would have been their first vacation together. Who knows how many shared memories and photographs they would have had: what gorgeous Italian gifts he might have bought her, what ridiculous landscapes she would have insisted on dragging him to see, how alive she would have made him feel.

Rolling his eyes at his own weakness, he slowly reached for his phone and pressed the number one on his speed dial. He'd just call to see if she had made it okay. See if she missed him at all anymore. Maybe he'd be able to explain to her why they just weren't right for each other. Well, more like why he wasn't right for her, because God knows she was the only woman in the world who could ever be right for _him_.

* * *

Blair lay under the covers of the bed her father had picked out especially for her, trying her hardest to forget all about boys whose names began with 'C.' She had been doing very well on the plane ride to France, focusing her attention entirely on the lyrics to various **Destiny's Child** songs. But when she stepped out of the baggage claim at Charles de Gaulle, the first thing Harold had said was, "Welcome, sweetheart! How was your trip with Charles?" And the tears had come rolling down all over again.

Okay, that was a bit of a lie. Maybe she had leaked a little bit of liquid remembering the name of the airport itself. But she had completely composed herself in time to greet her father and Roman. And then everything had to go to pieces all over again.

Roman had offered to 'kick that Bass' boy's ass' and Blair truly appreciated the sentiment but, despite how wimpy Chuck was in the first place, she doubted Roman could really do much damage.

She couldn't believe she had already wasted a week of her summer pining over Chuck fucking Bass. She had barely done any sightseeing, and her hand had been pressed to her phone the entire time, not wanting to waste a single second in case he decided to call.

The first day or so, she had been worried something terrible had happened to him. In his haste to be by her side, he had obviously just taken the first plane he could find, which had crashed over the Atlantic Ocean. She would have to mourn him for the rest of her life, wear only black, and never look at another man again. She couldn't decide if she would have preferred that to the reality of the situation.

When she finally gave up trying to contact him and called Serena for some information instead, the shock had been enormous. But then again, what had she really been expecting? (Other than her perfect fairy tale romance, but with the dashing villain suddenly turning into the dashing antihero with layers upon layers that, when stripped, revealed an enormous heart that beat only for her. But never mind that.)

"I'm sorry, B," Serena had said into the phone, speaking in barely a whisper. Probably because that Chuck Basstard was around there somewhere and could hear what she was saying. Mother Chucker. "He's not dead or injured. He's just… not coming."

Blair covered her face with a pillow to stifle her screams of rage as she remembered how she felt when she found out that Chuck hadn't labored heroically and overcome immense obstacles to come to her side and instead had simply stood her up. She didn't want her father to come checking up on her; she just wanted to be left alone in her misery.

She busied herself by scratching behind Cat's little ears and whispering, "You love me, don't you, Cat? You think I'm beautiful…"

Her attempts to extract something other than bored indifference from her new pet were interrupted by a very familiar ring tone that she had not heard in at least a week.

She debated whether or not she should pick up—he had left her stranded on the other side of the world, for goodness' sake! She had no reason to speak to him ever again, and no desire to, either.

Unfortunately, that was a lie.

Some small part of her, the part that would never give up her stupid hope of white picket fences (even though she planned to live her whole life in New York City) and 2 children (even though she planned on skipping the 'giving birth' part entirely), thought that maybe he was calling to apologize. To tell her he had made a huge mistake and that he was on his way over now. In fact, he was already here. He was standing outside her doorstep in the pouring rain, waiting to be let in. Despite the fact that it was perfectly dry and sunny out.

So she picked up.

"…Hello?" She whispered breathlessly into the phone, hating how needy and desperate she sounded. Well, at least she hadn't shouted, _Please come here now_ or _I need you_. It was a start, anyway.

No words emitted from his mouth in response. There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Silence and the sound of his ragged breathing. It sounded very much like he had been drinking. _Well, at least he feels guilty_. Not that it was much comfort.

"Chuck, I can hear you," she said with a warning in her voice. "I know you're there."

Still nothing. Perhaps he had opened his mouth to speak, but had quickly closed it once more.

"Fine. I'm going to hang up, then," she said in frustration, almost positive that she wouldn't go through with it. She would just sit there and listen to him breathe and pretend that he was breathing next to her. And hope that it would make her feel better to know that he was feeling bad.

"Blair, please… Wait," Chuck finally spoke up in a throaty, parched voice. For all the scotch he had been drinking, he had forgotten he might need some water from time to time.

"What do you want?" She asked in what she hoped was her harshest tone. But it really came out as more tired than angry. "Where are you?" She crossed her fingers and hoped against hope that he might name a small European country.

"…I'm just…here. At home," he replied after a long pause, already knowing it was the wrong answer. But, then again, that's all his life was: a test with a series of multiple choice questions. And he always picked the wrong one.

Blair sighed and closed her eyes. "Why are you calling me, Chuck?" Her voice was a little broken, as if she might be holding back tears. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, but he had a feeling he would never be close enough to touch her again.

"I wanted to hear your voice," he explained as simply as he could.

"Well, you've heard it," she snapped. "I hope you're happy now."

He shook his head and slumped even further down on the couch. "No. I'm not happy." He let out a long sigh and nearly crushed his phone with his death-grip; so strong was his desire to be near to her once more. "I'm sorry, Blair."

"Sorry for what?" She sat up in her bed and clutched Cat for some emotional support. "Sorry for standing me up, or sorry for making me care about you and then pulling the rug out from under my feet at the first possible moment?"

"I'm sorry for everything," he said truthfully. "I want to be there with you. I wish I was there right now."

Her features relaxed and her voice softened. _Now_ they were getting somewhere. "Then **be here**. Come as soon as you can." She did not voice the silent _please_, but instead added, "I'll wait for you."

"…I can't," he answered in a low voice, and he sounded so lost and defeated that she almost couldn't hate him. Almost.

"Why not?" She pleaded, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were falling, nor to disguise the sound of the small sobs escaping from her throat.

"I want to," he assured her desperately; unable to believe _he_ was making her cry. If he ever made promises to himself, he would have promised to **never** make Blair Waldorf cry. "But I can't. You don't understand…"

"I don't think you know what you want," she accused him bitterly, sniffling and wiping her face with her sleeve.

"Blair, when you come back… Can we start over?" He asked, as if he were a little boy asking his mommy if he could ride on the carousel one last time before leaving the amusement park.

Blair took a deep breath and felt her eyes flash. He refused to come to her, and yet he expected her to return to him with open arms? "You're going to have a lot of work to do. You have to prove yourself before anything can happen between us ever again."

He shot straight up, hope filling him once more. By Labor Day, he was sure to have straightened himself out. Then he could prove himself to Blair and pick up where they left off, pretending this summer had never happened. "Tell me what you want. I'll do anything."

"There's not a lot that I'm asking from you, Chuck. From anyone, really. But especially from you."

"What is it?" He hated guessing games.

She smiled sadly. "If you don't know what it is, it's probably because you don't have it to give to me."

"Blair, I—"

"Please, don't worry about it," she replied hastily. "You're going to pay when I get back," she added in a more cheery tone. "And then you won't feel so bad about hurting me, because you'll be too busy being the one in pain."

Chuck couldn't help but smile at this threat. He knew it wouldn't be an empty one, either. "I'll see you soon, Blair."

"Goodbye, Chuck," she responded. Once she heard the dial tone on his end of the line, she whispered, "I love you."

--

**.:THE END:.**


End file.
